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Achilles’ golden hair spilled across his flushed face as I brushed a stray lock from his eyes. Even after all these years, the way he looked at me: open, intense, impossible to ignore, still disarmed me completely.
While I worked him open with my fingers, he bit down on his cherry-red lips, trying to hold back a melodic groan that went straight to my cock. Arousal coiled hot and tight in my stomach. My free hand traveled up his toned body, tracing every familiar curve until I reached the tight bud of his pink nipple.
“Pat, hurry the fuck up,” his voice already edged with that familiar bitchiness he got when he hadn’t been filled yet. His body was slick with sweat, eyes blown wide and hazy, the pure embodiment of lust and beauty.
“After all these years and you’re still this impatient?” I scold gently, slowly withdrawing my fingers.
Achilles rolled his eyes, but the gesture only made me smile wider. The room felt warm and safe, filled with the quiet comfort we’d built together.
I reached toward the nightstand for the lube I’d left on top of my medical textbook, but he was always faster, grabbing it and tossing it onto my chest with a smirk. Then he spread his legs wider, offering himself so eagerly that a smile tugged at my lips. Always so impatient.
I slicked myself up, slapped my cock against his entrance, catching on his rim. Our eyes met. He gave me an encouraging nod. Slowly, I pressed forward, sinking into his tight, scorching heat. No matter how much we do this, he’s always so tight. His walls clenched around me, pulling me deeper, like they never wanted to let go. When I bottomed out, I paused, giving him time to adjust. A moment later, he tapped my waist, and I began to move.
The only sounds in his room, our room, I've begun to think of it, were the rhythmic slap of skin on skin and our shared, breathless groans. His breath hitched sweetly every time I dragged against that spot inside him. When he sank his teeth into my shoulder, I thrust harder, and he soothed the bite with a slow swipe of his tongue. Everything felt perfect. Just him. Just us…
“Why doesn’t your mom like me?” I asked, the anxiety finally breaking through even as I moved inside him.
Achilles’ flaxen brows shot up, his ever green eyes widening like they might pop out of his head. “Do not speak of my mother’s name while you’re inside me!”
“I’m serious,” I said, stilling.
His expression softened. He reached up, threading our fingers together and squeezing. “You’re ridiculous, Patroclus. I honestly don’t know what she thinks. Maybe she’s wary. Maybe she’s stubborn. But whatever it is, it’s not because of you.”
I looked away. “What if it is?”
“Then she’s wrong.”
The certainty in his voice loosened something tight in my chest. Achilles pulled me down until our foreheads rested together. “You spend too much time worrying,” he murmured. “You know that?”
“Probably.”
“Definitely.”
He looked up at me, eyes pleading for me to let it go. So I did. I hiked his leg over my shoulder, driving deeper, and claimed his mouth in a kiss that started sweet and quickly turned hungry. Our tongues slid and fought for dominance until I pulled back, a thin string of saliva connecting us.
I glanced down between us. Achilles’ cock lay heavy and flushed against his stomach, utterly useless for how huge it stands, like a knight that does not fight. It’s leaking steadily. A pearl of moisture in the slit. I wrapped my hand around him, stroking to the rhythm of our bodies. The headboard slammed against the wall beneath his Andreas Michailidis poster with every thrust. I sent a silent thank you to the gods that his father wasn’t home. The fifty year old divorcee spends much time at the office.
Still, the question slipped out again, quieter this time.
“Is it because I’m ugly?”
Any sign of pleasure vanished from Achilles’ face. His stony features softened into worry. “You’re gorgeous,” he promised. “Don’t I tell you that enough?” The words were so absurd but I knew Achilles would not lie.
I tried not to meet his eyes, but they found mine anyway. I nodded sheepishly. He sighed, a touch dubious. I felt the warmth of his soft gaze as he touched my head, just behind my ear.
“Your hair never quite lies flat here,” His hand moved downward across the muscles of my chest; my skin warmed beneath it. “Have I told you of this?” of how much he enjoys it left unsaid, His palm settling over my pounding heart.
“you have told me.” My breath caught a little as I spoke.
That eased him. His joyous mood returned like sunlight breaking through clouds. I leaned down to kiss his tender lips, and our bodies began to move again. His ankles locked around my waist, guiding me deeper. He was so close~ I could feel it in the way he clenched around me, our breaths hot and ragged between us.
“Pa- yes, don’t stop,”
I wasn’t going to.
“My beloved… yes, yes-”
His release splashed across his chest in white-hot spurts. He tightened around me, pulling my own orgasm crashing through in a blinding wave. For a moment, the air left our lungs, leaving heads fuzzy with pleasure and overwhelming love.
I started to move, but his muscular thighs tightened in a vice-like grip.
“Stay,” he pleaded.
“Okay, weirdo,” I promised, with no trace of deception. I softened inside him, our chests pressed together, the warm, sticky proof of our lovemaking between us. All I could do was stare, held captive by the living masterpiece of his beauty.
He smiled, and his face was like the sun.
“Do you think she’s homophobic?” I asked.
His smile vanished instantly. He groaned loudly and slammed the back of his head against the pillow. I bit my lip, but before I could turn it bloody, he stopped and reached up, thumbing it in gentle reprimand. Then he lifted himself and buried his face against my shoulder, hiding in my scent while I hovered above him. The sudden movement filled my cock once more.
“Does it matter?” His eyes were soft yet intense, ivory skin glowing in the muted light filtering through the curtains. “I think you’re worthy of me, more than worthy. I don’t care what she thinks.”
“You won’t break up with me just because she tells you to, right?” I try to jest, though I could not hide the sincerity of my words.
Achilles cups my face with his large, warm palm, enveloping me in his heat. The rough graze of his calluses against my skin sends fresh arousal spiraling through me.
“Mmm, no,” a playful smile tugging at his lips. “If I did, who else would be my little stalker?”
He starts to laugh, but I thrust up in mock reprimand.
“Stalker, huh?” I echo, grinning with pure delight.
His joyous giggle dissolves into a low, throaty moan. All my earlier worries are swept away by that rich, consuming sound. As we dive back into the throes of passion, I forget what I was anxious about in the first place.